The aftermath
by Neverville
Summary: People say it's never too late for redemption. Draco Malfoy knew better. Much better. The war is over, and all former Death-Eaters are shunned by the wizarding world. Draco moves to Watford with several other Slytherins, while Granger has completely disappeared. Rated M just to be sure.
1. Hands and faces

**Author's note: ****Hello everyone! :) This my first story on here, so please forgive me if it's a little messy. I've been bothered by a writer's block for a while, and hoped this would do the trick. Thank you for reading, and please review! **

**Disclaimer: The characters, and the rest of the content from the world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing them, though they're a delight to work with. **

* * *

People say it's never too late for redemption. Draco Malfoy knew better. Much better.

Two years had passed since the war ended. The smoke was gone, the embers had died down, but it was all still fresh in Draco's mind.

He hadn't been to Hogwarts since the day he decided to switch sides and Potter had won the war, but he was sure he wasn't welcome there. It didn't matter how much information he'd given them, or the fact that he'd killed Lucius himself. Perhaps, to them, it was all too good to be true. He'd felt their eyes on him every second during the aftermath, wondering how the boy who helped killing Dumbledore had been capable of betraying his own family, dark lord or no.

Even Hermione Granger, after being his friend for several months prior to his grand revelation, hid in the crowd as they turned against him.  
He hadn't dared to look at her face, but he knew what it meant.

Whether fear and distrust was a quality assigned to the "proud and brave" houses of Hogwarts, or if it's just the way ordinary people think, he couldn't say. All he knew was this: if he stayed there for another night, some hateful Gryffindor was going to strangle him in his sleep. So he ran.

The ministry would've tracked him down if he'd left the United Kingdom. No matter what his choices had been towards the end, the leaders of the wizarding world had announced a policy for former Death Eaters and their accomplices. They weren't allowed to use dark magic, obviously, none of them were to work in administrative positions, and most importantly, none of them could leave the country in ten years. It felt like being on probation. Hell, it _was _being on probation. Everyone around him expected him to throw a fit or demand a revolution, but the only thing Draco wanted was some sodding _peace and quiet. _

That was why he'd decided to move to Watford. The city was in no way deserted from the world of magic, as it's located half an hour away from London. However, it had a higher muggle count than any other district in the area, so he could go to the sodding grocery store without being shunned. Simultaneously, he wasn't too far from civilization, and he wasn't entirely without friends.

Several other former Slytherins had decided to do the same, and Blaise Zabini lived just in the area. Only a few weeks after moving, the two of them had got together and made a plan to make these ten years bearable: by starting a muggle bar together, make enough money to survive, and then take it from there.

Where the golden trio was, he didn't know. He'd only ever cared for one of them, and she'd flown off everyone's radar. He didn't know why. He told himself not to care. Draco had done well enough without her this far, and that wasn't going to change.

* * *

"_Breathe, Granger."_

_He'd found her this way; a trembling, sobbing heap in the restricted section of the library. What he'd been looking for there in the first place, he could no longer remember. It had something to do with Theo and his stupid kink for pranking Hufflepuffs. Granger's shoulders froze the second he mentioned her name, but she didn't lift her chin._

_"Draco," she said quickly, as if to verify his identity, though there was no question in her voice. "Don't worry. There's no… I don't… I'm fine."_

_She lifted her head as she uttered the last words, and something inside him clenched. Her face still managed to look composed, just for a moment, but there were cracks in her façade. Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks were covered in red blotches, and her lips were cracked and split. It was one of her nervous habits, he knew, gnawing her bottom lip until it bled._

_"Don't bullshit me. What happened?"_

_Granger ignored his question, burying her head in her hands. When he realized she wasn't going to answer, he sat down beside her._

_"Don't," she mumbled wearily. "I don't want to talk about it."_

_"It's fine. Come here."_

_She shifted to rest her back on his chest, shoulders still shaking. He hadn't thought out what he'd do for this part; he never thought she'd sit this close to him willingly. Hesitating, he snaked his arms around her shoulders as he tried to calm her down. Looking down at her hands, he saw her knuckles were chafed and swollen. Had she hit someone?_

_"Do I have some arses to kick, or did you do this to yourself?"_

_There was a small silence._

_"I had to obliviate my parents; send them off to Australia. They have no idea who I am."_

_Shit._

_Draco's mind was racing. What was he supposed to answer to that? He'd cut contact with his parents as well, but they knew he was alive. For all he knew, they didn't bloody care, either._

_"I'm sorry," he said after a while, because there wasn't anything he_

_could say. Not really. "What can I do to help you?"_

_The room fell silent once more, and he released his breath when he felt her head fall back into the crook of his neck._

_"I'd like to sit like this for a while, if that's fine with you."_

* * *

Draco woke up with a jerk, burying his face in his pillow. What the hell was that? Several months had gone by, and Hermione bloody Granger had managed to stay clear of his mind. Until now. His usual dreams contained strange, unrealistic mixes of fiction in reality. This one was a memory. The worst ones usually were. It's said that the memories that least match reality are the ones you'd think of the most. This dream had returned so often during his first year in town, it was hard to be sure it was real at all. Perhaps he'd made it up; that would've been much more realistic. Merlin, he had been far gone, hadn't he?

Waking up in the mornings was always a struggle. Draco got up, showered, brushed his teeth and ate half-done breakfast, all at an agonizingly slow pace. Blaise would be opening the bar today, he knew that, but if he let himself sleep longer he'd never get up at all. His dreams were too realistic, too tempting.

He left his flat at nine in the morning, in a – predictable – dark green coat and black scarf. Watford hadn't woken up just yet, its concrete walkways painted by the deep orange sun. He liked it best this way, he'd decided, empty and full of promise. He'd never seen the city of London half as peaceful.

"Up early again, Draco?" a voice said as he entered the café at the end of the street. It was Linda, a non-magical waitress he'd made friends with during his first week in town. He smiled at her, trying not to look as tired and disoriented as he felt.

"Yeah," he said simply, walking over to the counter. "A double espresso, please."

He'd grown especially fond of muggle coffee, during the past year. Of course, most wizards know how to make the stuff by using magic, but after trying the _real _stuff it all tasted like water. Muggle coffee woke him up properly, as was its purpose.

"You haven't slept at all, have you?" she said as she worked the coffee machine, concern evident in her voice.

"No, I've slept," he defended, truthfully. "Just not very well."

She handed him his coffee, a crease forming between her eyebrows. "You don't have to pay. I'm pretty sure we've earned a fortune from you already."

Draco wasn't sure about that: he only came in a few times a week. It felt rude to argue about it, however, so he just smiled. He hoped it didn't look as half-hearted as it felt. He watched her with wary eyes as she bent over the counter to rearrange some glasses. She might as well have shoved her tits in his face. Before everything that had happened, he wouldn't have minded at all. Now, it just made him feel sick.

"Don't you guys open at ten?"

He looked down at his watch, happy for the distraction. "Blaise is opening today. I better head over there anyway, he always forgets something important."  
Merlin, he sounded like an old man. Linda stood up and put her hands on her hips, looking slightly disappointed.

"Well, I guess I'll see you around then."

"Sure," he said in response, leaving five pounds on the counter.

"I told you it was on the house," he heard her say, but before she'd finished speaking he was out of the door. Blaise had urged him on to take the girl out; have some fun while he was stuck there. He'd gone out with some of the girls who met up at the bar, but although they served as a distraction for a while, he grew bored after a few dates. He didn't know what it was; their obvious advances, their predictable short dresses, or just the fact that none of them were _her._

* * *

_They had been following her for quite a while. Draco watched her back as she hurried down the hallway (did she always walk like that, or had she noticed the two snickering idiots behind him?), robe brushing against the ground, wondering what her body looked like underneath. The girl couldn't dress provocatively if her life depended on it._

_"Well get her into a corner," Theo whispered, far too loudly. "See if she knows any dirty secrets we can use against _the boy who lived._"_

_Draco clicked his tongue, well aware she could probably hear them. "Too predictable, Nott."_

"_We could throw her books out the window. She'll scream bloody murder."_

_Blaise burst out into laughter, and the Gryffindor froze ahead of them. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose in deject. Did they always have to fuck everything up?_

_"What do you want, Malfoy?"_

_Her voice was weary and hoarse, and made Draco wonder whether this was a good idea at all. He pushed the idea to the back of his mind, approaching her with a smirk on his face._

_"Hello Granger. How is our favourite Gryffindor bitch?"_

_She glared at him for a moment, dropping her bag to the floor. Draco wondered if she was going to hit him again, like she had all that time ago. _

_"Bugger off, I don't have time for this."_

_His smiled widened then, and he stepped closer, realizing how much taller he was than her._

_"What are you going to do, uppercut me with that teeny hand of yours?"_

_He'd expected her to get angry, but instead she looked almost concerned.  
_  
_"What are you doing, Draco?"_

_That threw him off for a moment. What was she playing at, using his first name?_

_"It's Malfoy," he spat as he measured her with his eyes. "And you're going to do something for me."_

_Her eyebrows shot up on her forehead, but if she was afraid, she didn't let it on._

_"Am I?"_

_"Head into Snape's storage and fetch us a bottle of veritaserum."_

_Granger looked confused, her eyes switching between the three boys. "Veritaserum?"_

_He wasn't intending on using it on her, although that would be rather hilarious. Pansy Parkinson had stolen something from Theo's suitcase, and he evidently_

_really needed it back. What the stolen property was, he refused to say, but Draco assumed he didn't want to know._

_"That's the one."_

_"And you're just going to do what they tell you to?"_

_The boys behind him fell completely silent. Draco felt the blood drain from his face._

_"What?"_

_Granger's expression didn't change, and it was driving him mad. "You're not half as tough as you think you are."_

_"You filthy little-" he was about to say __mudblood, but the word wouldn't leave his mouth. Instead he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her against the wall._

He felt Theo and Blaises' eyes on his back.

_"Nobody tells me what to do," he spat, towering over her tiny body. Still, she didn't look afraid at all. Instead she narrowed her eyes and stared straight into his._

_"Not even your daddy?" she hissed back. He felt his stomach drop, and could only stare back at her. That fucking…_

_"He can't have asked you to join them yet. You wouldn't be messing around like this if he had."_

_He shoved her back into the wall once more before letting her go, losing his composure._

_"Get away from me, you stupid-"_

_"Mudblood?" she countered before he could finish, her eyes shooting daggers into his. "Go ahead Malfoy, say it like they taught you to."_

_"Fuck off," he hissed as he walked away. He signalled at Theo and Blaise to follow, and hoped the bitch wouldn't decide to go after them. He didn't need this shit._

_"You're not one of them," she yelled at his back, but he didn't want to hear it. Whether it was true or not didn't matter._

_It wasn't like Lucius Malfoy would ever sell his own son._


	2. One of THOSE nights

**Author's note: Hello again. I haven't entirely decided where all of this is going yet, but the plot is definitely going to improve when I've worked on it for a bit. The first chapters might turn out a bit short, but as I said, I'm having a complete creativity block.**

**I'm sorry for any typos you might find, and again, please tell me what you think!**

* * *

"You're early."

The door closed behind him with a small _click, _and Draco offered Blaise a tired smile as he walked past him to the back room. Of all the friends he had kept in contact with, Blaise had to be the one who had changed the least. He had grown a bit taller, of course, and the lines in his face had sharpened a little, but all in all the man didn't seem to have been affected by the war at all. Whenever Draco looked himself in the mirror, the first thing he saw was the slimness of his face and the bags below his eyes, although he seemed to be the only one who'd noticed.

"Thought you might need some help," he yelled out to him.

It wasn't a complete lie, Blaise always got the deilveries mixed up, but the bar was the only place Draco ever felt like himself. They'd called it "The serpent's hive" because it sounded poetic, and also because it served as a private joke. All muggle bars seemed to have weird, illogical names, so this one didn't particularly stand out.

"Did you ask her out this time, then?"

"No, Blaise. I didn't."

"It's a shame," he stated, his smile audible in his voice. "I know if I had the chance, I'd fuck her six ways from sunday."

Draco snorted, reentering the room. His friend stood behind the counter, about to restock the beer in the minifridge. He'd ordered some of the wrong labels, _again, _but Draco had given up on stressing about it.

"You're still hung up on her, then?"

"Who?" he said as he took the chairs down from one of the tables, only partially listening.

"Your little Gryffindor princess," Blaise mused in mock endearment. "The one that's been AWOL since last year."

Blaise had been monitoring the comings and goings of the ministry, much to Draco's irritation. Potter and the Weasel had turned out as aurors, as it appeared, predictable as they were. Neville Longbottom appeared to be working in the science department, and had appeared with a group of stuck-up businessmen a couple of weeks back. As soon as he spotted the men behind the counter, however, he'd insisted on leaving before even sitting down. It gave Draco a small sense of satisfaction, that some still remembered him as the boy he was in Hogwarts. He had been a spoiled brat, he knew, and a cowardly one at that, but those days he felt like he ran the show. Now, he was merely a spectator.

"Just stop, Blaise. Granger and I were never together."

"You liked her, though," he continued, not the least bit fazed by Draco's dejection. "You won't admit it, but you were completely lost in those adorable brown eyes-"

Draco started laughing. "What the hell are you on about?"

"Creamy white skin," he continued, theatrically stroking his own cheek. "And then that crow's nest of a hair. It's like you have a weird fetish or something."

"You obnoxious son of a bitch."

Blaise chuckled, but seemed to leave it at that.

Most of the day went by without any unusual events. There were always a daydrinker or two around, but until people started coming off work they were their only company. A few people from the Ministry came in around five o'clock, and Draco recognized some of them: a former Ravenclaw whose name was Michael Corner, a tosser from the same house called Marcus Belby, and some faces he knew from Hufflepuff, although he couldn't place them.

"I spotted Luna with them once," Blaise commented while he was mixing a gin and tonic. "The girl belongs in a loony bin, not a sodding administration building."

Draco chuckled. "Bloody hell. And she's supposed to be directing people? What does she do, exactly?

"Counselling, I bet."

The streetlights outside had gone on, and Draco realized it was almost entirely dark. The hours had a habit of getting blurry once the people started crowding by the bar, and the two of them alone tried to keep track of the ales, whiskey sours and bloody marys.

"Shit," Blaise hissed behind him. "I think we've ran out of apple ciders."

"You never ordered them, Blaise."

"Yeah, I did. They were in the small box with the numbers on it."

"All the boxes have numbers on them."

"Shit."

Rolling his eyes, Draco walked past him and headed for the back room. They'd have to hire someone else in there, and soon. This bar was already overflowing, and as it appeared, the staff only posessed one and a half set of brains. Quickly, he located the box of ciders under the desk. They'd all be lukewarm by now.

"Bloody hell, Blaise," he swore, about to carry two handfuls of bottles back into the bar when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Malfoy?"

Draco jumped, causing him to drop one of the bottles on the ground. He yelped, stepping around puddle of glass and cider on the floor.

"Merlin's balls, what do you think you're-"

He didn't get much further. The girl behind him was wearing a burgundy dress and a big black scarf, and her hair was tied in a messy bun. Her body looked thinner and her skin was bleaker, but it was her. It was most definitely Hermione Granger.

* * *

_"It's called a video game," she explained, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. "Relatively new muggle invention. We have these big machines back home that plug up to the TVs."_

_"The what's?"_

_"Nevermind. Anyway, you push these arrows, and the character moves around. These here make him do things."_

_They were sitting between two stone pillars in the hallway, away from prying eyes and ears. Hermione was trying to show him some strange muggle screen-thing; small enough to fit in their hands, but still they had to push actual buttons to make it do things. Draco made the boy on the screen (or girl, it was impossible to tell) walk around in circles for a while, then it crashed in a tiny fence and got stuck.  
_

_"So what's the bloody point?" he complained, resisting the urge to throw the piece of trash at the wall. Hermione just laughed and took it from him.  
_

_"You're such a drama queen. See, here, you can talk to people and get quests. You know, people to battle, items to collect, stuff like that. It's really quite fascinating, but my parents never let me have a proper playstation."_

_"Muggles are such primitive beings, though," he murmured. Hermione rolled her eyes in response, but he ignored it. "I can't hear the tiny people talking, either."_

_"It's the text! It pops up- You know what? Forget it."_

_"No but really," Draco persisted. "Imaginary characters in an imaginary world. Fairytails and books is one thing, but do you have to take it this bloody far?" _

_She looked at him for a few seconds without saying anything, then offered a small smile. "I think it's nice. Sometimes people just need to get away."_

* * *

"What the hell is this?"

Her face seemed to switch between several different emotions: deject, confusion, anger and perhaps even regret. When she finally spoke, however, her voice was calm and composed.

"Is Blaise Zabini here? I need to speak to him."

Un-fucking-believable. He just stared at her for a bit, his expression completely blank. Then he let out a breath, slowly, and stepped aside.

"Yeah, sure. Fucking, go ahead."

She threw him a cold look, but went past him nevertheless, just as Blaise was entering the door in front of them.

"Draco, what the hell are you-"

His eyes went from her, to Draco, to her again, surprise and understanding seeping into his features. "Oh."

If the silence in the room had the ability to get heavier, it did now. He heard Hermione clear her throat, and she turned towards the dark-skinned Slytherin.

"Blaise, hi. Do you have a minute?"

Actually, none of them had. The room outside had to be full of angry, half-drunk customers, and they had no one to tend their needs. However, Blaise shrugged in response to her question, throwing Draco an apologetic look.

"Yeah, sure. Just give us a tiny moment."

They both watched her exit through the back door, and Draco didn't dare say a word until she was out of eyesight. He felt as if he'd just swallowed a bludger.

"I think you handled that well," Blaise whispered.

"Fuck off, Blaise. What is she doing here?"

"Well, I don't know, do I? You could have asked her."

"I didn't bloody get that far. I couldn't care less, either. Get her to leave."

Blaise looked down at the floor and sighed, almost theatrically. "I'm going to see what she wants first."

Draco shrugged and shot a look at the door. "Yeah, go ahead. Just remember we're probably about to drown in furious customers."

"Angry muggles? Dear Merlin, what are you going to do?"

"You heard me. Hurry the fuck up."

* * *

Blaise found her on the street, just below a poorly lit streetlamp. She looked agitated, at the least: shoulders stiff, lips pursed, her eyebrows slightly furrowed. There was dirt on her dress too, he saw, though it wasn't too noticeable.

"Are you going to tell me where you've been?"

Hermione looked down at her shoes. "I was going to tell you, I just didn't want you to worry."

"Well, I've been fucking worried 'Mione. You told me to be your emergency contact, then you completely disappear-"

"I'm sorry, alright?" she said, raising her voice. "I needed some time away, that's all."

"Were you going to tell _him _what's going on? You haven't talked to Draco since... when, exactly?"

"The battle of Hogwarts."

She saw Blaise's menacing look, and lifted her hand to her forehead. "I didn't know what to do, Blaise. Harry had just, bloody, _returned from the dead__, _and neither he or Ron knew we were even friends, and I... Ron _kissed _me."

Blaise scoffed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's complicated. Everything's just... complicated."

Blaise released a small laugh. Everything was always so _fucking _complicated. He stared at her face for a while, expecting her to elaborate, but she didn't.

"Fine," he groaned. "What can I do to help?"

Her gaze moved past him to look at the bar, and she looked uncertain, just for a moment.

"I need a place to sleep," she finally said. "And also, I was wondering if you need another bartender."


	3. What doesn't kill you

It wasn't as bad as Draco had expected. The time had just passed midnight, so most of the worst drunks had gone home or to an afterparty. Some of the others just wanted a glass of water, while a select few were still going strong. That was a glorious trait some muggles appeared to posess: destroying their own bodies for the sake of feeling woozy. Blaise had yet to return, and they were closing in an hour. Draco felt irritation boil in his stomach.

"Oy, blondie!"

A girl was calling out to him from the other end of the bar. She was dark-haired, light-skinned and wore a glittery silver dress. He couldn't see from behind the bar, but he was ready to bet it revealed the bottom half of her buttcheeks.

"What can I do for you, miss?"

"I don't know," she said. "Whatever you like, I suppose."

Draco suppressed the urge to wrinkle his nose. Yep, she'd certainly had enough mojitos. "A glass of water, then?"

He heard the door open behind him, almost groaning in relief. Where the hell had the two of them been for forty minutes? A lot of ideas crossed Draco's mind, and despised every one of them.

"Sorry if I took too long," Blaise said behind him, but Draco didn't answer. He'd better have one hell of an explanation.

"I'll tell you everything afterwards, alright? Fifty minutes to closing time."

Where Hermione had gone to, he didn't say. Draco didn't dare ask, either.

The last fifty minutes felt like three hours at the least. When the final taxi arrived, and Draco could lock the door behind the final customer's back, it felt like the whole world had gone silent.

"So, do you want to hear what she wanted?"

He turned towards Blaise and lifted an eyebrow. "It doesn't matter. You're going to tell me anyway."

"That whole 'I don't care, she'd dead to me'-bullcrap is completely seethrough, by the way." When Draco didn't answer, he sighed. "Well, she wouldn't tell me why she's been gone for a year or why she's back, but she's probably going to stick around for a while."

"What..?"

"That's what she said," he answered with a small shrug. "Also, she needs a place to stay, so I told her she could sleep on a mattress in the back room. You know, the one we keep there. For emergencies."

His last words trailed out as he saw the way Draco was looking at him.

"Hey," he said, throwing his hands in the air. "What was I supposed to do, make her sleep on the street?"

"You don't have any obligation towards her," Draco said in return, just as agitatedly. "And why would she ask for _you, _anyway?"

Blaise paused for a moment, which only made him angrier.

"She needs our help, Draco."

"What do you suggest, exacly?"

"We need another pair of hands behind the bar, for starters."

Draco pointed a finger at him, his hand shaking slightly. "No."

He heard the other wizard scoff.

"You're one hell of a masochist, you know that?" Blaise mumbled as he switched off the light. "You have a two minute walk home, and you don't have to be here until midday tomorrow. This girl was the center of your orbit during your seven years of Hogwarts, and you're going to pretend her being here doesn't mean a thing?"

_That's the whole point, _Draco thought, not daring to say it aloud in fear of sounding pathetic. _She pretended to care, and then she left me standing alone._

It made him feel weak, just thinking it. All his life he'd been taught that his family name meant strength and honor. He didn't need anyone else around him to feel happy. He didn't complain when people took off without saying a word about it in advance. That was just how things were. Yet, when she came around with the agenda of proving him wrong, she ended up doing the very same thing.

"Not all seven years," he said sourly, well aware that it was completely irrelevant.

"Just talk to her, you stupid prick."

Draco watched the door as it closed behind him, suddenly feeling paranoid. The walls inside the bar weren't all that thick, and he and Blaise had been talking rather loudly. However, had she heard them, she wouldn't have heard anything she didn't already know.

Or at least that's what he hoped.

* * *

He stood outside the door for at least fifteen minutes, one whiskey sour in each hand. What was he supposed to say to her?

_Hey, Granger, remember that time when I was the only person you could talk to? That's certainly fucking changed._

Or perhaps:

_How's Weaseltard with all this? Did he kick you out, or did you leave him yourself?_

Sigh.

He certainly wasn't the best at small talk.

"You can come in here, you know. I don't bite."

_Shit._

He opened the door slowly, careful not to drop any of the glasses. Granger was sat in a big, brown sofa that Blaise had dragged in a couple of months earlier, complaining that they didn't have any "proper seating" in the break room. Neither of them had used it even once.

She was still wearing her burgundy dress, a simple thing that hugged her body in all the right places, and stopped just above her knees. Draco tried not to stare, but she looked so completely different, it was hard to imagine she was even the same person.

"Hello Granger," he said, denying his features to give anything away. She gave him an uncertain look when he handed her the whiskey, but accepted it nonetheless.

"Hello Malfoy," she replied in the exact same manner, and he got a sudden urge to laugh. Granger seemed to notice, because she smiled a little as well.

"What's funny?"

"You're different," he said simply, almost accusatory. She tilted her head to the side and looked him up and down.

"So are you," she said after a short while. "Associating with muggles. How could you possible stoop this low?"

"I was never that disgusted-"

"Yes Draco, you were."

Her retort didn't sound demeaning, much to Draco's surprise. She was simply stating a fact. He considered complaining about her use of his first name, but in some fucked-up way, it felt good. It felt _normal._

"Muggles do have a knack for self-destruction."

She took a gulp from her whiskey, her deep brown irises almost turning black in the dull light from the ceiling. "Don't we all?"

He stared at her, a million questions boiling in his stomach. If he uttered a single one of them, however, he was afraid she'd shut down. She'd done that far too often during their last weeks in Hogwarts. The memory put an acrid taste in his mouth.

"Is someone after you?"

He just threw the question out there, in the effort of not sounding worried. Or caring. Or anything at all.

"Harry and Ron are, I guess," she said with a small laugh. "But I wouldn't call them a hazard."

"Annoying fucktards would be more accurate," he mumbled, ignoring the look she gave him. "What I don't understand is why you didn't run sooner."

"Why, to your gloriously superior gang of Slytherins?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Why not? You seem to get along with Blaise just fine."

Shit, now it sounded like he was jealous. He was _not fucking jealous. _It was, however, painfully far from common sense.

"That's none of your business."

"How bad can it be?" he scoffed. "I'd definitely know if he'd shagged Gryffindor's princess."

Grangers mouth fell open.

"That's not- What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What is it then?"

"Sod off, Malfoy."

He chuckled humourlessly. "There it is, she's back."

"He was offering information to the order," she yelled, a furious gleam in her eyes. "I was his contact, and I realized he was just a person. Like you are."

A pit formed in his stomach. Blaise's father was most definitely dead, and he stopped talking to his mother during his fourth year in Hogwarts. The bitch had treated him like a dog, and if he'd stayed she would've brought him to Voldemort, like so many others had done to _their _kids. Yet, Blaise had gotten out. He wasn't a death eater, and he never had been. So what kind of information would he be offering?

"You," Granger hissed before he said it aloud, as if the answer was obvious. "We thought you'd followed in Lucius' footsteps, and he proved to us that you were different."

Draco drew a slow breath, trying to make sense of the noise in his head.

"But I didn't tell Blaise about my decision. I didn't tell anyone."

Granger's brows furrowed, and he knew the answer at once.

"You told Blaise. You fucking-"

"I didn't have a choice," she defended, her voice rising several pitches. "I needed to know you were reliable before I told you about the Order."

"So you talked to my best friend. Classy."

"Thank you for being so understanding," she spat. "I'll be sure to remember that next time I save your life."

He got up, the whiskey still in his hand. "Oh, I fucking understand. You put up a big show about _caring and being good_ just to give the Order a head start in the game. Then you got up and left when it actually mattered."

There. He'd said it. And he regretted the words the second they left his mouth. Granger looked almost hurt for a moment, but then her expression hardened.

"Get out."

"Are you serious? This is _my bloody bar._"

"GET. OUT."

Draco swiveled around, slamming the door shut as he went. Who the fuck did she think she was? He'd been fine without her for _two sodding years, _and then she had to crash into his bar with a load of fucked-up baggage behind her. She didn't deserve his help. She didn't deserve _anything._

He locked the door on his way out, plodding down the empty walkway. His apartment was at the end of the street, yet the paving stones seemed to stretch on forever. When he finally reached the two-storey, red-bricked building, he wasn't even sure he wanted to enter. The slightly shabby apartment on the top floor had been his only reality for a long while. It had made him forget about Hogwarts. About magic. Sometimes it felt more real than the _war. _Now it felt as if he was stepping into an alternate universe, or as if he was about to wake up and discover this was another one of his made up scenarios. A part of him really, honestly hoped that was true. Still, it was the most terrifying thing he had felt since he moved to this place.

Dream or not, he was almost certain that when he returned to the bar the next morning, she'd be far gone. Running was what Granger seemed to do best.


End file.
